


What the Cat Dragged In

by TARDISTraveller42



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Danny Pink, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 22:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18061586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TARDISTraveller42/pseuds/TARDISTraveller42
Summary: The Doctor stumbles into Clara's flat feverish and ill. A purely fluffy sickfic.





	What the Cat Dragged In

What the Cat Dragged In

Clara loved the sound of the rain. She always had, actually. Back in Blackpool, it would always make the ocean waves dance, and the mere mention of it scared off all of the tourists so that she and her parents could have the beach to themselves. Now, as an English teacher, the rain was a sign of calmer times. Like tonight, sitting curled up on the sofa marking some papers while the telly played a period drama quietly in the corner. 

Clara smiled to herself. This really was the life she’d always wanted, wasn’t it? Being a teacher, in her favorite city in the world (universe, if she pushed it), with a flat of her own and a boyfriend who enjoyed sitting in the park and making dorky maths jokes. She hadn’t expected the alien best friend and the time travelling, but they were certainly an added bonus. 

Most of the time, at least.

A wheezing noise came from the hallway, making Clara sit up straighter. Nah, just the wind. Someone rushing in from the rainstorm probably left the door open a bit. 

A cat hissed, just then, and a low, Scottish voice grumbled back at it. Clara leaned her face on the pillow resting on her lap. She loved the Doctor, of course she did. And she was always somewhat relieved when he came back (you never knew, with all of those perilous TARDIS adventures he had). But tonight…

She sighed. Tonight had been so peaceful. She’d even entertained the thought that she could get a full eight hours sleep. 

Her door opened roughly. She would’ve been nervous or angry or ready to buy a new door that actually kept out intruders, but she knew it was hopeless. You couldn’t keep out intruders who had a Sonic Screwdriver. Even when they looked like they could barely hold themselves up.

“Doctor?” Clara asked, getting to her feet. The Doctor was hunched over slightly, keeping his finger on the button of the Sonic longer than necessary. “You alright?”

“Got in an argument. With Mr. Boots.”

Clara nodded, quirking an eyebrow.

“Mr. Boots the tabby cat? Lives with the neighbor?”

“Exactly.”

His voice sounded rougher than usual. Croaky; almost broken. Clara lowered her brows as she approached him.

“Are you feeling alright?”

He nodded; a bit too dramatically, it seemed. His eyes went glossy for a second, and he took a moment to balance himself again.

Clara touched the back of her hand to his cheek and frowned.

“You feel like you have a fever.”

He swatted her hand away, child that he was, and forged past her into the room.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice sounding even worse already. “How about an adventure? Mars? Jupiter? Or maybe the volcanoes on Venus. They’re stacked like pancakes.”

Clara put her hands on her hips, about to question him further. Ultimately, she decided on a different approach.

“Sounds nice, but we don’t have the TARDIS.”

He blinked at her in surprise, then rushed back toward the door.

“It’s parked nearby. Just down the hall. Had a bit of a malfunction…”

“Her or you?”

He froze where he was, hand around the doorknob. Finally, he let out a sigh and turned his head down, defeated.

“Alright...I’m not feeling my best today. No, scratch that...I feel like I’m dying.”

“Regenerating again?” Clara asked with a smile, leading him to her sofa. 

“Possibly. Hope I get to be ginger this time. And more female.”

Clara smiled at that, sitting down beside him and shutting off the telly.

“As amazing as that sounds Doctor, I would like to keep this ‘you’ around a bit longer if I can. Why don’t we figure out what’s wrong?”

She lifted his hand and felt his pulse, throbbing its double beat below her fingers. It was rather thready, but not bad enough to concern her. Then she felt his forehead with the back of her hand, frowning.

“You’re usually cooler than I am. Hold on; I’ll go get a thermometer.”

The Doctor seemed about to protest, but thought better of it. As Clara went to the kitchen, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the sofa cushion, revelling in the cool fabric. When Clara returned, he blinked his eyes open slowly.

“That doesn’t contain mercury, does it?” He asked.

Clara laughed, pulling the thermometer out of its case.

“No; I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Sorry; hard to keep the human technology calendar straight sometimes.”

Clara raised the thermometer, and then faltered. In the past, she’d helped ill children, not 2000 year old Time Lords. Did they warrant the same treatment?

“Say ‘ahh’,” she joked, testing his reaction. Surprisingly, he obeyed.

Apparently he was basically a big kid. Who’d have thought, with eyebrows like that?

“‘ow ‘ong do I…?”

“Shh, no talking” Clara ordered. “When it beeps, you can take it out.”

He rolled his eyes, turning to the ceiling. Clara patted his knee and set about putting her marking away. She certainly wasn’t going to get back to it tonight.

When the thermometer beeped, the Doctor sat up and read the device with a scowl.

“So?” Clara asked.

“I...may have a slight fever.”

“Slight….”

“Slightly high,” he admitted. He shook the thermometer clear before Clara could see.

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” Clara said, getting to her feet again.

The Doctor huffed and grumbled, but followed her to her room. Once there, however, he seemed to question himself. His face turned red; redder than the fever had caused.

“Doctor?”

“I should go sleep on the sofa,” he said, turning to go.

“No,” Clara grabbed his arm. “Come on; into bed. I’m not having you run off and get even worse. I don’t have the number for the outer space Time Lord hospital; nor the address.”

The Doctor smiled softly at her joke. It softened his features and, added with his pink cheeks and quiet demeanor as he sat on her bed, made him appear so much more...human. So much younger and more innocent.

“Shoes off,” Clara said, setting the rules. “No telly, and no food in bed.”

“You’re not my mother,” the Doctor’s hoarse voice responded, even as he slipped his shoes off and set them neatly beside the bed.

Clara gave him one last stern look, then went to the door. 

“Feel better, Doctor.”

“Clara?” He said suddenly, stopping her before she turning out the light.

“Yes, Doctor?”

He swallowed, adjusting himself beneath the blankets.

“Why are you doing all of this?”

Clara’s eyes shifted, then she smiled.

“Because you’re my friend. And you need someone to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m over two thousand years old.”

Clara shrugged.

“Everyone needs someone.”

She shut off the light and disappeared into the hallway.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

When she was ready to go to sleep herself, Clara decided to check on the Doctor. He’d been quiet all this time, a surprising feat that made her a bit worried. He was usually up every five minutes, if she could even get him to lay down in the first place. Maybe he was more ill than she thought.

“Doctor?” She called, rapping on the door with her knuckles. 

When he didn’t respond, she opened the door slowly, wincing as it creaked. He was still laid up in bed, and still looking feverish. Even more than earlier, in fact. His hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, chest rising and falling shakily.

“Oh, Doctor,” Clara murmured, settling into a chair beside him to stroke his hair. “What am I going to do with you?”

His eyebrows furrowed at the sound of her voice.

“Clara?” He whispered. His voice sounded worse, too; like it had forced its way up his throat.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

His eyes opened, red and watery.

“Worse than regeneration. How long do these things usually last?”

“If it’s a flu, you’ll probably feel a lot better by the end of the week.”

He groaned, disappointed at her answer. Then he broke into a coughing fit. Clara rubbed his back until he calmed, letting his head fall back into the pillows. 

“I’ll be on the sofa if you need me.”

“Wait; Clara,” he coughed again. “What about PE?”

Clara smiled to herself.

“Look at you being tactful.” She patted his hand. “Well, if he’s got an issue with me taking care of my friend, then it wasn’t going to last anyway.”

She got to her feet as he closed his eyes, sneaking to the door quietly. There, she paused and looked over her bedridden Timelord.

“Feel better, Doctor.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Clara woke with sun hitting her eyelashes. It was a much calmer awakening than she was used to; no alarm blaring in her ear, and it made her smile. She stretched, relishing the quiet of a Saturday morning, and then turned to the sound of a door opening.

There stood the Doctor, big bad Timelord that he said he was, wrapped in her blanket. She couldn’t help the big grin that spread across her face.

“I’m feeling much better,” he said with his still-hoarse voice. “If I can just borrow this for a little while, I can get out of your hair.”

Clara approached him, ignoring the fact that he drew back in response.

“Doctor, hold on.” She felt his forehead again, noting that he did seem much better. “We have a tradition in my family.”

He furrowed his brows; a much more humorous action now that he was bundled up in a purple blanket.

“Whenever someone is ill, we have soup and watch movies all day.”

The Doctor held up a hand to refuse her, then broke into another coughing fit. He seemed to eat his words after that, at least.

“Okay,” he relented. “That sounds...nice.”

Clara chuckled, then pulled him to the sofa and sat him down.

“You settle in here; I’ll go make some breakfast. Toast sound good?”

He nodded. She could tell he was thinking deeply as she kissed his forehead. When she pulled away, he grabbed her arm.

“Clara; thank you. For all of this.”

She smiled to herself about the ‘thank you’. Those were rare with this version of him.

“Anytime you need me, Doctor; just call. Or stumble into my front room.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please don't hesitate to leave a comment; it means more than you know!


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